


if you don't mind, i'll walk that line

by KuroFae



Series: all i wanna do [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Episode 53: Cornered, M/M, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, and then some non-standard fjord dream stuff, but yeah spoilers for 53!!!, mentions of death in nightmares, rated T for the death stuff but it's super mild, references to vomiting/nausea, standard fjord dream stuff, written before episode 61 where matt said fuck your fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 12:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18691645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuroFae/pseuds/KuroFae
Summary: Fjord's nightmares only get worse the longer they stay in Rosohna. Caduceus helps.





	if you don't mind, i'll walk that line

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Remedy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15829470) by [Wrenvibes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrenvibes/pseuds/Wrenvibes). 



> titles (both fic and series) taken from Troye Sivan's Talk Me Down.

Fjord hadn't meant for it to become a regular thing. Hadn't wanted the chance for it to become a regular thing.

He jerks awake with a painful rasp of air into his salt-raw lungs, the oxygen entering only after the seawater flies out, soaking his front and the entirety of his bed. The scent of brine immediately fills the room around him, and he groans. It's a mistake - he can immediately feel the roughness in his throat, the scratch of pain as his vocal chords protest. He swallows thickly, trying to sooth the burn, but it doesn’t do much. The inn room is adequately built, with minimal space between the wooden boards of the walls, and shutters that are latched closed, but Fjord is cold like he’s been dunked in ice water. He runs a hand over his face, trying to rub some feeling back into the tip of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. His hair is sticky on his forehead, stuck by some combination of saltwater and sweat, and he brushes it back.

It’s probably more sweat than saltwater. Tonight was…. awful. The shakes are already starting.

Caduceus is already awake. The guy seems to have a sixth sense all the time, and seventh reserved specifically for Fjord's nightmares. He's sitting on the edge of his own bed, mug in one hand and kettle in the other, staring somewhere over Fjord's left ear with his lack of darkvision.

"Tonight a bad one?" He asks, voice soft with sleep. By the sound of it, Fjord's probably interrupted his nights sleep, not just woken him early. It’s difficult to tell in Rosohna, where perpetual night coats the land. 

He opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is an awful gurgle and he feels his gut twist unnaturally.

"Hhhng," is the noise he manages to make, and catches the flash of pity across Caduceus' face before he's doubled over.

Caduceus rises up, and sets them off into their routine that Fjord wishes they didn't have; wishes it hadn’t happened enough to become a routine.

First, tea, if he can keep it down. If not, some sort of waste basket or an open window or at least the farthest corner of the room for him to empty his stomach into. Tonight's a tea night. He's nauseated, but the ginger in Caduceus' new 'nightmare blend' helps enough. 'Duceus has been making do with what he can in Xhorhas, Fjord knows, so it's no surprise that the tea is more earthy than usual, and heavier. He doesn't think about it. Don't think about the weird tea, or what it could possibly be made of. The mug rattles in his hand, and makes a soft clink noise every time it collides against his half-grown-in tusks. He wills his hand to steady, but he can already see that Caduceus has noticed, heavy-lidded eyes narrowing. Then, Fjord places the mug gently on the bedside table - or the floor, whatever they have - and then Caduceus does what he can to dry him off. If it's been a bad day and Caduceus has had to heal them over and over, it's just him stripping Fjord of his soaked clothes. If they had an easy day, Caduceus can pull some of the moisture out of Fjord's clothes using some sort of spell - not the intended use of it, Fjord thinks since it doesn’t seem to work all that well. 

Today's been a slow day, but there's no saving Fjord's tunic tonight. He's practically got a puddle in his lap. Large hands manhandle him - gently - up and off of his bed, tugging under his arms and around his waist until he's on his feet and listing gently against Caduceus' side, unsteady. Long, spindly fingers carefully undo the ties at the neck of his tunic before tugging it over his head. Caduceus has done this enough times now that he may as well have darkvision when it comes to the clasps on Fjord's clothes.

"Hmm," Caduceus hums softly above his head, "It alright if you're just in your smallclothes? You're really soaked."

Fjord is okay with the tunic going off every night. He has no more hang ups with his chest or his stomach than he does the rest of his body. But sometimes there's something too much about being near-naked in these situations.

" 'S cold," He manages to grumble.

"Yes," Caduceus agrees, and then there's silence for a moment. The floorboards creak beneath Fjord's feet as he tries to stay upright. "Ah. Sorry, but that wasn't an answer," Caduceus adds. There's no pressure in his voice, and Fjord knows he can take his time to decide. He can say no. There's no expectations, but Fjord still shifts uncomfortably.

"It's fine," he whispers. It's not easy to be asked every time, and admit to being comfortable with near-nudity. But until he tells Caduceus it's okay every night, without exception - which it isn't - that's how it is. Caduceus had made that very clear, and when Fjord isn't shaking and trembling and emotionally raw, he's thankful for it.

"That's good; that's great," Caduceus mumbles absentmindedly, already making quick work of his trouser ties and tugging them down his hips.

Third in their little dance is getting back to bed. It sometimes takes some rearranging, trying to fit two relatively large people into a small - often much too small - bed. Fjord's chills set in and join the tremors almost the moment he's out of his wet clothes, and Caduceus moves a little quicker, dark-impeded eyes still managing to catch the gooseflesh along Fjord's biceps. He ushers him under the covers, which are just as thin as the ones on Fjord's bed, but then makes up for the lack of warmth by immediately wrapping his long limbs around Fjord's chest and thighs, settling against his back.

Fjord could cry with relief. Every Gods damn time.

Caduceus is warm, skin flushing under his fur from being curled up in sleep. Heat seeps from his chest and through Fjord's back, settling in against the backs of his ribs and chasing the freezing chill of the ocean from his body. Large, furred hands are burning brands against his bare chest, chasing away the itch of the salt from his skin like ripples in a pond; like Caduceus is casting a healing spell. Fjord knows he isn't, but the sensation of warmth dancing across his skin in comforting waves is so similar to the Wildmother's magic that stitches his flesh closed on the battlefield.

The warmth is intoxicating, and it chases away the remnants of the nightmares that plague him.

The longer they stay in Xhorhas and the further from the ocean they get, the more and more Fjord's dreams are invaded by his progressively more impatient and angered patron. Where the dreams had started out with drownings and having the life squeezed out of him by powerful, serpentine muscles, they had evolved. Things had become personal. Fjord's seen horrible things; things he hopes Uk'otoa is not actually capable of from its underwater prison. Things involving Vandren. Sabien. Bryce, Pumat, Jester's mom. Kiri. Jester herself, and Beau and Caleb and Nott and Yasha. 

Fjord hadn’t wanted this thing - this comfort - to become a regular occurance. He hadn’t wanted to relive the feeling of having the the life ripped from his body, or learn to clamp down on his emotions and simply wait for them to end as he watches his friends be mutilated by monstrous fangs or drown in salty water. The nightmares are horrible, and even after they pass, the tremors and the nausea persist through the morning. 

But he can’t help but to enjoy the fact that it’s a regular thing to have Caduceus’ lanky body wrapped around his shaking body. Can’t help but to enjoy Caduceus’ hands ghosting over his body, or their ankles intertwining, or the long, warm line of Caduceus’ body pressed up against every inch of his bare skin. And somehow, Uk’otoa must know this, because on bad nights, like tonight, it’s Caduceus who Fjord watches drown miles under the ocean.

Somehow those were the worst, when Uk’otoa rips apart the only source of comfort from the dreams that Fjord has.

"You're tense," Caduceus murmurs above his head. Even curled over Fjord's body, the firbolg is still a full head taller. A furred hand presses a little firmer against his bare chest. "Usually you've relaxed by now. What's wrong?"

Fjord feels a catch in his throat and swallows heavily, distantly aware that Caduceus will notice. How could he possibly explain how vivid, how real his dreams are to someone else? How nearly every night, he watches his friends - his family - tortured and beaten and killed and feels it over and over and over? That's more than Caduceus signed up for, and Fjord refuses to burden him any further than he already has.

"Sorry," he croaks, "Tonight was jus'... Particularly bad."

Caduceus makes a noise that clearly conveys that he doesn't believe him. He shifts behind Fjord, removing his long leg from on top of Fjord's thighs and rising up on an elbow, the other hand still resting on Fjord's chest. "I can tell. Is everything else alright? Do you want your pants back?"

Fjord shakes his head against the sheets. "That's not it. Sorry." A moment of silence. Caduceus is still waiting for an actual explanation, because he has the creepy ability to stare through the back of Fjord’s head and read his thoughts.

How does Fjord explain that it's worse when it's Caduceus who's dying in his nightmares? How does he explain that something about his feelings for Caduceus is different? 

He's not sure he's ready to admit to himself what that something is.

"Can you..." Fjord swallows heavily again. Caduceus' blunt nails dig into his chest the slightest bit. "Can you come back down here? Still cold."

Caduceus lets out a defeated sigh, but lowers back down against Fjord anyways. His wide nose and lips press gently into the nape of Fjord's neck as he slides lower into the bed, knees brushing the bottoms of Fjord's feet. There's a huff of warm air against his neck, and Fjord feels a bit of tension drain from his body. Caduceus' arms wrap around his waist this time, fingers pressing gently against his stomach, rising and falling with Fjord's breath. Against his back, Fjord can feel Caduceus’ breath start to match his, his too-thin frame allowing Fjord to feel his ribs expanding with each inhale. Caduceus is breathing. He's fine. He's not drowning. Fjord gently places his own hands, scarred and calloused from years at sea, over the velvet-soft backs of Caduceus’ hands. Twists his ankle so that his foot is wrapped around the back of Caduceus’ calf. Slowly lets his eyes fall shut. Caduceus seems to have given up on getting an answer, and seems content to purr loudly against Fjord’s neck and rub soothing, nonsense patterns into his skin. Fjord’s finally becoming warm again, the blankets trapping their body heat against his skin. He focuses on the hot trails left by Caduceus’ fingers over his abdomen; the sensation of Caduceus’ rumbling purr against his back; the rise and fall of their synchronized breathing. The chills subside with the warmth, and the panic clutching at his throat starts to recede. Fjord can begin to feel his fingers again, and flexes them against the back of Caduceus’ hand. 

A wordless request. Something that they haven’t done before. 

The purring at his back becomes even louder, and Fjord feels five spindly fingers lift from his abdomen and weave themselves in between his own battered ones. Caduceus gives his hand a soft squeeze, and Fjord lets a sigh of contentment escape his lips. 

As the last of the cold leaves his body and he’s starting to drift off, head heavy on his pillow, the pressure of Caduceus’ lips against the nape of his neck increases for just a moment. Just a single, brief moment of lips chapped from travel and the winds of the wastelands pressing into the dark skin of his neck. Just the suggestion of a kiss.

“Sleep well, Mr. Fjord,” Caduceus’ voice rumbles behind him, “Dreamless sleep, this time, I think.”

Fjord gives in to sleep as Caduceus presses a second kiss to his skin. 

He’s glad it’s a regular thing.


End file.
